I want more from tonight then what I usually settle for. Dancing and drinking is fun and all, but it’s become routine. Flirting would be great, too, if it didn’t lead to the generic, “You’re Avery, aren’t you? My friend’s told me a lot about you.” Nothing says romance like the boy you wanted to innocently get to know recognizing you as a friend’s pay-for-service fuck buddy. I want to meet a guy that has never heard my name uttered from another person’s mouth. One who comes to me with pure intentions. Is that too much to ask for?
I rub my eyes lazily. I’m being ridiculous. It’s nice to have hopes, but I shouldn’t let them get so high. Odds are things will be like they always are. Meet up with Ruby, order a drink, dance with a stranger, order another drink, dance some more, drink, dance, puke, dance, drink, drunken heart to heart with Ruby, drink until blackout, wake up either in another bed or in my bed with a complete stranger. Party time. Excellent. All that YOLO shit.
My stomach growls, and it’s loud enough for Tregul to lift his head up drowsily in confusion. I slide a hand over it. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and now I’m regretting it.
I finally get up, pull on a robe, and head back down to the kitchen. Mystic follows me, hoping for a handout from whatever I cook, mewling with excitement when I pull out a can of tuna fish to make a sandwich.
A few minutes later and Mystic sits in my lap, eyeing my food and mewling pitifully while I watch the news in the living room. Tregul decides to join us, but only curls up in the corner of the couch and fall asleep again.
A commercial blips over the screen and I look away momentarily. Mystic’s stopped whining for food, Tregul’s feet twitch in sleep, and I’m alone in a house in a robe. I’ve officially become the crazy cat lady. Oh, the excitement.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table with a call from Ruby. “Hey, Rue,” I greet while I press the phone to my ear.
“Hey, want to go out early?”
I mute the TV and push Mystic out of my lap so I can stand up. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”
“Come over. We’ll watch a movie and get ready together. Sound like a plan?”
“Sure. I’ll be over in a bit.”
Fifteen minutes after I hang up the phone, I’m dressed, have my stuff pack up to get ready, the cats are fed, and I’m in the car on my way to Ruby’s. Ten minutes more and I’m outside of her apartment, knocking on the door.
She throws it open without greeting and goes to her TV, fiddling with her Blu-Ray player. “Dammit,” She mutters under her breath.
“What?” I inquire as I set my stuff down next to the door.
Ruby pushes a strand of strawberry blond hair out of her face in frustration. “Movie won’t play.”
I roll my eyes and kneel next to her. “Let me see,” I say calmly. She moves aside and lets me pop the disc tray open. Superman Returns sits in the slot, and I sigh unhappily. “Really?” I ask exasperatedly while I pluck the DVD out.
“Superman? You couldn’t spring for The Dark Knight Rises at least? Pick the lesser of two evils?”
She shoves me. “Shut up. I love Superman.”
“Faggot.” I turn the disc upside down and close my eyes at what I see. “Did you check the disc?”
I hold it out to her. “Way to go, genius. The shit is scratched out of it.”
Ruby takes the disc sadly. “Crap… Can we fix it?”
“Nope. You can go buy a new one.”
“I don’t have enough money to spend on a movie right now…”
“Oh, nooooo,” I cry sarcastically. “What else we got?”
“We’ve watched that thirty times.”
“My Little Pony.”
“…Hold onto that.”
“Well, what did you have in mind?”
“I crawl over to her movie rack and scan the cases. After a bit of searching, I find a movie I’ll watch and throw it at Ruby. “Put that in.”
Ruby’s quiet for a moment. “Sherlock Holmes?”
I slowly look at her, my mouth slightly agape. “Why? For the glory of Robert Downey Jr. of course!”
Ruby rolls her eyes and sticks the disc into the player. “You dork.”
“Big talk from the brony who knows computer speak.”
We sit on her couch and watch the movie for a couple hours, then spend another nerding out over the bonus features. We finally click off the TV, minds fangirling silently over Holmes, and wordlessly start to get ready; I get dressed in the white halter top and black denim shorts I packed, and Ruby sorts through her closet in search of something cute to wear. Fifteen minutes of cursing and flying clothes and she’s finally pulled a cropped, one shouldered, green and blue floral, flowing top and white cotton shorts. She comes out of her closet, does a twirl, and smiles. “What do you think?”
I sit on her bed and lean back on my hands. “You look like a whore.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m going to take that as a compliment coming from a whore.”
I laugh slightly. “Okay, hon. Whatever stops the tears at night.”
She rolls her eyes and heads to the bathroom to do her makeup, and I get up to follow her.
I sit on the counter and watch her paint her face, kicking her when she just barely applies eyeliner to make her screw up. She slaps my leg each time with a curse.
I don’t bother with makeup. Never did except for dance when I was little. I think it’s like putting on a mask. The guy who comes up to you won’t think you’re pretty. He’ll think the crap you spent an hour layering on is pretty. Besides, I think I look fine without it.
Ruby finishes her “artistry” (her word, not mine) and finally grab her purse and steps into her white pumps. “Ready?”